This evening is a little bit depressing, and perfect topic for an exhibitionist blog.
Just all these places together. . . I went to the library of my first college today. And yesterday. Morris Library. The place I read my first graphic novel in, on the ground, in the aisle. (
) The place that had almost all of R.Buckminster Fuller's books that i read with Abe, and when we got so excited we ran out of the library and hopped over the bushes and rolled on the ground and made out. The library lawn where Abe gave me my first hit of acid. And the fountain that I baptized my friends insuring one of my Epic Semesterly picnics. Childhood now. But back then, it was my first whiff of being an adult. (Ages 18-21). I'm only walking in my memories. Walking right through them, going down-stairs, passing the elevator that we used to make out in, ignoring all the memories, and sitting down next to these Family Therapy books while I'm having problems with my family.I wonder. I wonder why I haven't figured it out. Do me and my mom always mean to fight? Am I inherently against her? Or is she against me, like jealous or sad? She compliments me so excessively and then so vulturously insults me or takes away my will-power. I don't understand the power she has over me, or the power I have over myself. To those who read, and do not know. 9 out of 10 doctors agree, I have the most challenging mother. Was I made for her? With all my characters? Am I the problem? This topic, is the sphere around me. This is the topic of the real paper I have to finish, and it is what I need to venture through in order to survive this coming few years.
She makes me so angry. It's like, her voice turns to snarls. Is my mother Medusa? And she roars at me recommendations. She is concerned about Liver Cancer tonight. I wish that it was conceivable for her to treat me like an adult, not get attached to me being around, understand it's difficult for me, for her to shame me every time I want to spend time with my friends. What is this? I am still the black sheep,bad girl, image, she so doesn't understand damages my own view of myself. I was completely naive and innocent when I believed I had committed too many sins to be valued by my parents? Wasthis Christianity? Many whoi tell of my family assume this... But I would say it is more closely rooted in a family history of Arab conservatism, war,poverty, and being displaced from your home and separated from half your family in a culture that worships family systems.
I just can't stand it when she makesme feel so small. It'saddictive. I go back and I have a hard time not feeling so very small.In fact i'm certain my vision is distorted. Ever so slightly. Ever so slightly. Ever soslighty. Ibecome not awoman anymore.
Isuppose that is connected to my vivavcious thirst forsexualexperiences. It is one areaofmylife I feel verymuch in the right place. On top. A leader. Theopiate of the masses. More like the Pope. More like Hecate. More like Lilith. More in control.
Mymother my history,my isiolated childhood, is like, along-ago fantasy prison dolled upinshiny austrailaina crystals and straghtAs and eventually bad bad things.
Now. It's;like all I do is I have to remembered that I always do have control.She can't make me feel useless.My mind is powerful, these memories I am waking walking though somany somany too many too count the ones here are so thick and deep. I can't believe these memories are still here,and I can't believe I created them.they are like neural pathways and maps and guidances towards where i no longer need to be. I needed themprobablythentoimagine a reality in which i was not imprisoned by her,and what she symbolizes for me.
Becoming so small. You simply cannot find yourself anymore.
versus.
Becoming so shiny and powerful that eventually my choices are respected and in the mean time withstanding how lonely it is. Not being able to fully let myself know my mother.
goodbye friends<3kisses
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